


Light of Day

by Walker_August



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walker_August/pseuds/Walker_August
Summary: You're a member of the DEA team based in Medellín, trying to prove herself in a job that's overwhelming at the best of times. Thankfully, you have a friend in Javier Peña. But when you make a big mistake, it almost costs you your life, and that sparks something new between the two of you.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader
Kudos: 29





	Light of Day

It barely occurs to you that you’ve made a mistake until you hit the ground hard and the ringing in your ears is the only sound you can make out. You lie in the dirt, forced down by the impact of the car bomb. A bomb that was meant for you.

Yes, ok, you’d made a mistake. A _fucking stupid_ mistake.

For a while you lie there and wait for the ringing to dissipate. Dazed, trying to comprehend how exactly this happened. This morning it was a call to your personal line, a familiar voice giving you a time and an address that would lead to an exchange between associates of Escobar – your first big tip, the one you’d needed to prove yourself. Now it’s likely broken ribs, and bruises already starting to ache on your lower back. And two dead soldiers lying just a few yards from you. Your breath stutters, can’t even bring yourself to move as you try to make sense of it.

Eventually you hear someone running in your direction, crouching down to you and checking for any obvious injuries.

“I’m ok, I’m fine” you croak out, wincing when you sit up too fast and feel pain shoot through your body.

“Estoy bien” you lie through gritted teeth, indicating for the attending police officer to help you up. The air is still and heavy after the wave of the explosion, it feels like it’s choking you as you force yourself up waving off the help of the concerned man.

Once you’re on your feet, you realise you are definitely _not_ fine.

“Shit” you mutter, confused. Is the world tipped on an angle? Gravity and the heat are weighing down on you as you suffocate on it, and then in an instant everything goes black as your body crashes in to something solid for a second time.

When you come to your pounding head is nestled in soft pillows and a blanket covers you. The chatter around you and too-bright lights assault your senses while you groan with the exertion of moving your head to the side. It doesn’t take long to realise from the white curtains and the hard mattress that you’re in hospital, which is the absolute last place you need to be. Too vulnerable. You have to be back at base.

Testing the waters, you sit up and find the pain in your abdomen is certainly still there, but more dull than before. With a swing of your legs, bare feet hit the cold vinyl floor and you hiss at the unexpected sensation. Your head throbs and the bruising on your tail-bone isn’t going to be fun at all but you haven’t passed out so that’s got to be something. It’s enough for you, at the very least.

When you realise it’s already late, darkness facing you out the nearest window, you feel the anxiety spread. You’ve been gone too long and your superiors aren’t going to be happy when they find out why. A rushed conversation in broken Spanish with the nurse confirms your broken ribs, and when you tell her you have to leave she disapproves but brings you painkillers and your possessions anyway, knowing they can’t make you stay.

In any other situation someone would be here to help you, get you out quicker. In a normal situation someone – Steve or Javier or even Messina – would have known where you were going and what you were doing. Could’ve tracked you down to the hospital and been able to help with this mess. But because you had decided you were skilled enough to take this one on yourself, that wasn’t the case today.

How could you have been so naive to think that the tip wasn’t a trap? That your contact wasn’t working for the other side? You barely knew him, had only had a couple conversations with him but really believed he was trustworthy.

But people always let you down. You should know that by now.

Back at base finally, you find it mostly quiet. Many have retired to their quarters, some will be out on patrol. A few people mill around desks and talk amongst themselves but pay you little notice.

You’re not surprised when you find Javier Peña at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Making your way to him, to the desks you share, trying not to hobble as you start to feel a wave of sickness again. He finally looks up and spots you, eyes widening, like he’s seen a ghost.

“ _Where the fuck have you been.”_ He hisses out when he finally stops staring. _“_ We’ve been radioing you all day after that god damn bomb. Where were you? Why didn’t you check in?” You’re not expecting the tone he gives you, angry and frustrated.

“I-” you start, taken aback.

“Jesus, you look like hell.”

“Yeah it’s been a bitch of a day, look _I need to talk to you_. It’s really-” you stop, bracing against the desk as a wave of pain hits you, a feeling of unsteadiness making you shake.

“Fuck. Sit down. What happened?” Javier takes you by the arm and pushes you on to the nearest chair. More pain as you sit.

You look up at him about to speak and for a small moment you forget what you’re saying, where you are, who you are. It’s the nausea and the painkillers making your head fuzzy and your stomach knot. Not his touch. Not the depth of his brown eyes staring back at you. Absolutely not.

A small shake of the head pushes whatever that feeling was aside and you force yourself to focus.

“I went to check out a tip this morning” you begin, telling him the whole story and hoping he’s going to be the person you think he is. Now, you have to rely on your colleague not to turn you in for misconduct and have you demoted and sent back to the US.

Javier doesn’t really respond, perched on the side of the desk, thinking. But his face says it all. _Disappointment_. He sighs loudly and picks up the cigarette again, lighting it this time.

“Peña, don’t tell anyone. Not yet. Ple- I don’t want the Colonel finding out and getting my informant killed before I can speak to him. I think I know how to get him to talk, ok?” You wince again, rubbing your side.

“Let me figure this out.” he responds curtly, and you can’t decide if he’s angry or something else. “Go and rest”. It sounds like an order, but you nod and get up to leave.

Then he mutters something under his breath and you see red.

“What was that?” you speak up, defensive. He doesn’t get to judge you, not for this. All the shit he and Steve have done in the past. There’s no way.

Honestly, you’re surprised it’s Javier – the one person at the agency you really consider a friend – who acts like you’ve disappointed him. You’d expect it from hot-headed Murphy, but Peña had always seemed more forgiving, understanding. Perhaps you truly were naive and he wasn’t really a friend at all.

“Doesn’t matter.” he answers finally, clearly not wanting to have a conversation about it. “I just wish you hadn’t fucked this up so badly” he adds almost too quiet for you to hear, but you do.

You watch him get up and turn away and your body burns with anger. He doesn’t get to lord some bullshit virtue over you for this one tiny mistake.

“No, Peña. It does matter because clearly you’re unhappy with how I handled this and you want me to stay in my lane. That’s it right? Right?” Some surge of adrenaline has you fuming.

“Oh you’re disappointed. Well you don’t get to be disappointed in me – you’re not my fucking boss or mentor or whatever you think you are that makes you better at this than me. You would’ve done the same thing, I know it. But if me going off book once that means I get pushed out of your stupid DEA boys club then fine”

There was no intention of going off at him like this, but his reaction wasn’t what you expected and suddenly you’re so pissed off you can barely stand it.

“Don’t be stupid, that’s not it at all. But two of our men are dead and you-” he starts, close to shouting.

That catches you off guard and immediately you know you have to get out of there or you’re going to dig an even bigger hole for yourself. As fast as your shaky legs will carry you, you turn from him. He calls your name, but you ignore him and are thankful that at least he doesn’t feel compelled to follow you.

It’s not until you get back to your tiny but private room, sitting down on the rickety old bed, that the day actually hits you full force. You taste salt and realise tears are streaming down your face. How could you be so thoughtless, so selfish? Those men, you hadn’t even thought of them since this morning. Too thankful to be alive yourself to consider anyone else. You don’t know how to control the sudden well of guilt, swallowing you whole.

He’s right. Javier is always right, somehow so wise even when he doesn’t mean to be. He can be an idiot at times, sure, but he knows who he is and what he’s doing and you’re sure he’d never run from his problems the way you wish you could right now.

You pull the medication from your bag and take two of the small, white pills in some hope they’ll also clear your head along with the throbbing pain. You want it blank, gone; no thoughts of the men's families, of your impending unemployment, of the one person here whose company you enjoy now hating you.

For a couple hours at least, sleep takes you and allows you a moment of solitude until you wake with a start, displaced and uncertain if the flash of light and wave of heat are real or in your head. You let out a shuddering gasp and try to steady yourself.

“ _Calm down, calm down”_ you tell yourself between breaths. To clear your head you decide to get up for water, then head back downstairs for some air but instead you’re shocked to find the familiar figure of Javier still at the desk, looking at documents with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

From the doorway you stand in silence, covered by the darkness, and watch him. You’ve never met anyone more dedicated to their job before him, and this is proof of it. 3am and everyone else is long since gone to rest. The man in front of you is ready to give up everything else to catch one maniac, but instead of being obsessive about it he also has the capacity to care _so much_ about so many other people and in so many ways.

Even you. He was your guide when you arrived to Colombia, alone and with only one other DEA posting under your belt. He took the time to introduce you to local fare, help you learn Spanish without you even having to ask, and from there on was a colleague who had always had your back. At least until now, and you can’t even blame him for that.

You can’t stand the thought that he hates you. So drawn to him, you need his presence for reasons unknown to you.

You find yourself standing before him again now, without really realising you had moved. Tears already staining your cheeks and rolling off your face again, this time when he looks at you there’s a kindness in his eyes again and you feel almost a sigh of relief escape you because there’s no anger in them now.

“Javi” you whisper, your voice wobbling as your emotions threaten to explode from you. “You’re right, it’s my fault. I got those men killed”

That’s all it takes for the tears to stream, the sobs to start. In an instant he’s there, gathering you in his arms and letting you cry in to the fabric of his shirt. He’s so soft and warm and comfortable.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” he murmurs, hand rubbing circles on your back.

“I’m so sorry. I thought I could- thought I would be-” you whimper, desolate and vulnerable for the first time since he’s known you.

“Hey, stop. Don’t do that” he pulls you back to look you in the eye “You were right, I would’ve done the same thing. We all would. And I’m sorry too, for what I said, how I reacted earlier. I just-” he looks away from you, slightly flushed.

“Look, I thought you were dead and it was too much. I wasn’t ready for that. I can’t...”

“It’s a risk we take every day, in this job. You know that.” a confused interjection on your part, feeling this sudden strange static between the two of you, his hands gripping you like he’s making sure you’re really there.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you because… well, _you know why,_ right?” he finishes.

His eyes search yours for something, some acknowledgement. Suddenly, he’s the vulnerable one and like the dynamic shifted in a millisecond. It takes you a moment to figure out what he’s saying, if he’s saying what you think he is. But then the way he looks at you then tells you exactly what he’s trying to say, plus a thousand other things at once. All doubt pushed aside.

Oh.

_Oh._


End file.
